


The Gift of Joy

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, Drama, Episode Related, Gen, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-04-30
Updated: 2000-04-30
Packaged: 2018-11-10 16:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11130351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: It's the first working day after seeing Tracy Jenkins sing, and Frannie and Turnbull are missing.





	The Gift of Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

"Ray, Turnbull seems to be missing

This is the first story in my Gifts series. The second, The Gift of Peace, should be out soon as of this upload.

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Rating: PG, for some suggestive situations 

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Pairing: Frannie and Turnbull

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Challenge: Kim's challenge on RSY to have Frannie and Turnbull get together after Mountie Sings the Blues, and stay together.

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Spoiler(s): Mountie Sings the Blues, a few minor ones for the movie _Casablanca_ nothing major

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Disclaimer: These wonderful characters belong to Alliance, not me; I'm just taking them out to play.

Feedback: yes, please!!

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Notes: This started out as just the beginning part in the precinct, but then Frannie wanted to explain some things, Welsh had a suggestion, and Fraser wanted to get in on the act, then Turnbull thought it was only fair that he got to give his perspective too, and Meg got crafty on me, so it expanded! Hope you all enjoy it! This is the first time I am doing a bunch of the exposition in 3rd person, and this is my first long fic, so I'd love to know what you guys think works and what doesn't! 

I got the Inuit tale from: http://lehua.ilhawaii.net/~stony/montly98.html She's created a beautiful site full of wonderful stories. I did shorten the tale for this story. No copyright infringement or offence is meant I believe I have used the story respectfully. I got the Apache prayer from my sister and brother-in-law's wedding. 

Many, many thanks to the people who helped me with this story . . . you all are the best!!

For purposes of this story, the day everyone goes to see Tracy Jenkins sing is a Saturday.

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The Gift of Joy

Debbie Hann, November 1999

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Ray, Turnbull seems to be missing."

"Huh, what'da say, Fraser?" It was the first thing in the morning Monday morning and it was taking all of Ray Kowalski's concentration to stir the Smarties into his coffee.

"I said Constable Turnbull seems to be missing. He did not report for duty this morning as scheduled."

"Fraze, it's only 8:15. Maybe he's still at home combing his hat, or something. Ya' know, running late," Ray added with a vague hand wave as he slurped at his coffee. "Ah, perfect." 

"I did consider that, Ray, but Turnbull is never late. Well, there was that one time he got caught in his neighbor's clothesline, but even then there were extenuating circumstances." 

Ray could hear the worry in his partner's voice. "Clothesline? No, wait, I don't even wanna know." Ray stopped any explanation by holding up a warning hand. "Did you call 'im?"

"Yes, of course I did, Ray. That was the logical place to start," Fraser set his Stetson down on Kowalski's desk and took a seat; he could tell that this was going to take a while. "He did not appear at 6:45, his usual arrival time since he begins duty at 7:00. At 7:15, when he still had not arrived, I called his apartment to see if he was, perhaps, ill. There was no answer, despite the fact that I let it ring 17 times. Growing concerned, and since I was coming over to see you this morning, I took it upon myself to find the spare key to his apartment that is kept at the Consulate, and stopped in at his apartment on my way here."

"Fraze, this is too many details before I finish my first cup o'coffee. And I'm still recoverin' from hanging with the band this weekend. Cut to the chase!"

"Yes, of course, Ray." Fraser was finding the memory of singing with Tracy Jenkins a bit distracting himself. "He was not at his apartment. There wasn't any fresh garbage in his trashcans, his mail from Saturday was still on the floor, and his neighbors have not seen him since he left for duty Saturday morning."

"Whoa. Looks like we got ourselves a missing Mountie." The combination of the Smarties and the serious details was more than enough to get the wheels turning in Ray's head. "You call the Consulate an' see if he's gotten in yet; I'll go put an APB out on 'im. Back in a sec."

"Thank you kindly, Ray." Fraser reached across the desk for the phone as Ray decided to walk to Francesca's desk he didn't feel like shouting this morning. 

'Where could he have gone?' Ray thought as he walked across the room. 'Well, at least we don't have to search for his known associates.' When he got to Frannie's desk, he stopped, confused. She wasn't at her desk, and her computer wasn't on. "Hey, anyone know where Frannie is?" Ray raised his voice to carry across the usual noise in the bullpen. Several people looked up, but no one had an answer for him.

"I haven't seen her yet this morning, Detective." Carla, one of the desk sergeants, supplied.

"Me neither, Ray, and I need her to pull some mug shots for me." Dewey came over and stood by her desk next to Ray.

"Francesca!" Welsh bellowed out his office door. He caught sight of Ray and Dewey standing by her desk. "If you guys just sent her on an errand, get 'er back; I need her now."

"It wasn't us, L.T." Ray answered

"Yeah, we're trying to find her, too" Dewey said.

"Don't just stand there; find her. If she isn't out talking to Doreen in parking, call her at home, and tell her to get her butt in here. I don't care if she is feeling the effects of the weekend, that doesn't mean she gets some sort of special treatment." Welsh rubbed his own head unconsciously.

Ray felt a little like saying "Yes, bwana, right away, bwana," but he didn't think today was a good day to push the Lieutenant. While Dewey went to look for Frannie, Ray used the phone on Frannie's desk to put out the APB. "Yeah, Miller, the other Mountie . . . yeah, that one . . . uh, about six feet, blond hair, blue eyes, last seen wearing the red Mountie uniform . . ." A wide grin split Ray's face, "Yeah, it'll make it easier to find him all right... oh, an' he was wearin' a cowboy hat too . . . no, not part of the uniform . . . . Yeah . . . right . . . Ok, thanks, man, get all the black and whites out on this. Yeah, later."

Turning back to his desk, Ray could see Fraser standing there waiting for him, a worried expression in his eyes. "He hasn't come in?"

"No, he still has not reported for duty."

"Damn, that's really weird. What'da say we head back over to his place and look around again? Oh, wait, gotta call Frannie and roust her."

Before Fraser could reply, Welsh stuck his head out again. "Ray "

"Just calling now, sir," he said, deftly grabbing the receiver, and plopping down in his chair, he propped his feet up on the edge of his desk. He could feel both Welsh and Fraser watching him. Fourth ring... fifth ring... answering machine; "Hey, Frannie, it's Monday. That means you gotta get ta' work. Up an' at 'em, rise and shine. Welsh wanted you here ten minutes ago, so you better getta move on." By this time Ray had expected a groggy Frannie to pick up the phone and start grumbling at him, but no one had picked up. "Pick up, Frannie, come on." Still no answer. "I'll start singing! You know you hate my singing!" Ray was enjoying this; it took his mind off his lingering headache. But she still didn't pick up. "Ok, we're gonna keep calling." Nothing. "Call in, Frannie."

"No answer, Sir." Ray said, but before he could say anything more, Fraser cut in.

"Ray, Lieutenant, it strikes me as an odd coincidence that both of our offices have a staff member who has not reported to work this morning. I also find it interesting that the last time we saw these two co-workers, they were in each other's company. They also left the bar together the other night."

"They left together?"

"Yes, Lieutenant," Fraser replied, rising to stand at attention with his arms folded behind his back, "I believe you had already gone home. Francesca volunteered to take Constable Turnbull home since he normally uses public transport and was across town from his usual bus line."

"Yer right, Fraser. I remember seeing them get into that junker of hers. But where are they now?"

"The mind reels at the possibilities with those two." Welsh had walked over to Ray's desk. "All right, let's work under the assumption that where ever they are, the two of them are together. Huey, Dewey," he called, "have a black and white swing by Francesca's place and check to see if her car is there. Ray, Fraser, I wa..."

Fraser and Ray turned around to see what had made Welsh stop issuing orders mid-sentence. There, standing in the doorway of the bullpen, were their two missing friends. Both men felt relief that the two were safe even as they realized how closely Frannie and Turnbull were standing. In fact, they each had one arm around the other's back, and their free hands were linked in front of them. 

"Constable Turnbull!" Fraser exclaimed.

"Frannie!" Ray shouted at the same time.

Part 2

The guilty, sheepish looks on their faces made both of them look far younger than they were as they walked over to where their friends were bunched by Ray's desk. 

"Uh, we can explain," Frannie started.

"Damned right you can explain, and you're going to start right now." The tone of command in Welsh's voice was very clear.

"Yeah, well," Frannie let go of Turnbull's hand and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. "See, we started talking the other night after we left the bar, and then, well, we thought . . . we started . . . it seemed right to . . ." She stopped and took a deep breath. Finally she blurted, "We're married."

"Yer WHAT?"

"She said they are married, Ray."

"I heard what she said, Fraser!" Ray turned back to the couple. "What do you mean you're married?" Ray's shout brought all activity around the room came to a complete stop.

"Jeez, Ray, thanks for taking care of our wedding announcements! Could we take this into your office?" she said to Lt. Welsh, cocking her head to the side to try and shield her face from the gawkers.

"Certainly, Miss Vecchio, uh, Mrs. Turnbull," Welsh replied, waving his arm towards his office. Frannie and Turnbull walked through the room and were joined by Fraser, Ray, and the Duck Boys before Lt. Welsh closed the door. The rest of the people in the bullpen craned their necks and leaned around to get the best view between the slats in the windows. That is until Welsh put his face to the window, made shooing motions with his hands, and closed the shades.

"Ok, spill it, Frannie. What is goin' on?"

"Gosh, thanks for the support, Ray." Frannie replied sarcastically. She opened her mouth to yell at him some more, but Turnbull stepped forward and put his hand on her shoulder. Smiling up at him and taking another deep breath, Frannie started again. "Ok, see, after the concert and hanging out afterwards, Ren needed a ride home," she reached up for another hair tuck, "And we got ta' talking. He was telling me more about what he cooked, and then we discovered that we are both huge _Casablanca_ fans, cuz, you know," she scoffed and shrugged, "who isn't? So we went back to my house and watched it, and talked about the first time we saw it, and he told me about his childhood, and I told him about mine, and--"

Turnbull broke in. "I believe what Francesca is trying to say is that we discovered many mutual interests, and in the spirit of spontaneity and love, we took ourselves off to Vegas." 

"Vegas?!" Fraser was the only one who was able to hold back the exclamation.

Frannie grinned, "Yep, we took a quick flight out, and got married at the Graceland chapel yesterday morning." She thrust her hand out, showing off her new ring.

"Quite lovely, Francesca, the radiant cut diamond and gold band complement each other well, but how does this explain your dereliction of duty, Constable?" 

"Ah, well, sir, you see..." 

"Fraser, that was, uh, kinda my fault," Frannie interrupted. "See, we were on an early flight out of Vegas, but the plane was late. But we still had enough time to get here for work. We were going to call, but all those in-flight phone things were either in use or broken, and do you know how rude some of those brief-case guys get if you ask them to disconnect their modems? Man, anyway, we were late getting into O'Hare, and then there weren't any pay phones free, so rather than wait, I told Ren that we could get here faster if we just came here. An' that's what we did, but first we had to drop our stuff off at my place and change clothes. We were about to leave, when, I, uh, distracted him."

Ray started laughing, "Well, Fraser, I guess Turnbull has been taking lessons from you, but I've never seen anyone turn that red that quickly. So, ya' got DISTRACTED, did'ya, Turnbull?" 

"Oh, lay off, Ray." She threw a coy look up at her new husband. "He's really quite focused when he is distracted." The blush that had started to fade blazed back across Turnbull's face again.

Fraser tipped his head and cracked his neck. "While I extend my felicitations on your marriage, Turnbull, I think you'd better check in with Inspector Thatcher. She was quite worried about you when you did not arrive for duty."

"Yeah, she was worried she might have to pick up her own dry cleaning."

"Ray, really."

"Renny, Fraser's right," Putting her hands on Turnbull's chest, Frannie stretched up and kissed him. "I've already gotten you into enough trouble."

"'Renny?'" Ray mouthed to Huey and Dewey.

While Turnbull called the Consulate with the phone on Welsh's desk, Frannie pulled Fraser off to the side. "Fraser, are you alright with this?"

"I think Constable Turnbull has been a trifle irresponsible, but I think given the circumstances, Inspector Thatcher wil"

"Fraser! That is not what I meant!" 

"It's not?" Fraser ran his thumbnail over his eyebrow before tucking both hands behind his back.

"No!" Fraser took a small step back from her windmilling hands. "I always thought, well, you know, but now that I love Ren, I realize I was wrong. You just need to accept that. This," now Frannie's hand was moving rapidly between them, "this, wouldn't have worked."

"It wouldn't have?" Fraser was tempted to take another step back from the mutinous look entering her eyes. "It wouldn't have." He felt it prudent to change his words from a question to a statement, and since she broke into a smile, he decided he had made the proper decision.

"Thank you for understanding, Benton." When she had turned her back on him after leaning up and giving him a kiss on the cheek, Fraser let his confusion show on his face as he looked over to where Ray was slouched on the couch. He schooled his features, however, when Ray grinned and mouthed "later" at him.

Turnbull hung up the phone and turned back to his wife and friends with a rather bemused expression on his face. Surprise clear in his voice, he said to Frannie, "While Inspector Thatcher feels that she and I will need to have a discussion about reporting to duty on time, she has given me the rest of the week off in congratulations!"

"We talkin' about the same Thatcher, here? The Ice Queen said that?" Ray said, but he was ignored as Frannie launched herself at Turnbull, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him passionately. At least she started to, but Turnbull put his hands around her waist, and pushing her away, ended the kiss before it went very far; "Francesca," he said darting looks at the others around the room, "we must observe some sense of decorum. This is, after all, an office and there are other people here."

Welsh tried to cover his smile by reaching up and rubbing his nose. He was partially successful; the others, except for Fraser, who looked vaguely approving of Turnbull's restraint, were not able to hold back their grins. Frannie looked around at her friends, and replied, "Oh, come on, Ren, they understand, we're newlyweds; it's expected!" But she backed off and contented herself with stepping around to his side and putting her arms around his waist. Just this different reaction about kissing in front of the others, however, made her think back over the last few days. She couldn't believe she was married. Not only married, but married to a Mountie, and not even the Mountie she had been pursuing for what seemed like forever. The lunch he had made for her the day they had talked about mules and country music God, that just two days ago had made her realize that there was more to Ren than immediately met the eye. He might seem slightly goofy, but he was kind and considerate and careful of other peoples' feelings. That made for a pleasant change after the men in her family (even Ray, who could be obnoxious as only older brothers could), and especially after the pig who was her first husband.

She didn't even want to think about the Pig now; Turnbull was totally different. He actually listened to her opinions and thought that she might have something good to say. Their conversation about _Casablanca_ flashed in her mind. There they were sitting on the couch, watching the scene in Rick's where the young couple who want to escape are playing roulette, and talking about the ways Rick hides his real feelings, when all of a sudden the topic switched to their own feelings. The movie played on in the background while they discovered that they had both been badly hurt in the past. By the time Elsa was boarding the plane, she was in Renny's arms and they were discovering yet another side of each other. 

Part 3

They hadn't progressed beyond kissing (much as they would have liked to), but it was like a, what did Fraser call those things? An epiphany, yeah, that was it, it was like they both had an epiphany and realized that not only had their relationship moved beyond friendship, but that they each wanted it to keep growing. Ren had been the first to bring up the "L" word, but it didn't take her long to realize that she not only liked him, she loved him, too. She still didn't know why these feelings had come on so fast when they had only been casual friends before, but whatever the reason, she didn't want to go back. Neither of them did. 

Frannie had jokingly said "Hey, let's elope," and was rather surprised when Ren had tightened his arms around her and immediately said "yes" quite emphatically. 

She hadn't known he was so spontaneous, but the more she thought about the idea, the more she liked it. She wanted to marry him; he wanted to marry her; why not now? Grinning, she said "Vegas?" 

Ren had smiled back, "Are you sure this is what you want to do? Won't your mother be disappointed?

She hadn't had to consider her answer, "I don't think so, I mean, after all, she got the full Mass and all the trimmings right down to the ice swan and the white dress and train when I married the Pig, and look how that turned out. Let's just do it!"

It hadn't turned out to be very difficult. Ren called the airlines and booked a flight while she had gone upstairs, packed a dress -- her favorite blue one with a scoop neck -- grabbed an extra toothbrush for Ren, and raided some of Tony's old clothes for Ren for the flight back after all, he was in uniform and could get married in that. They threw the stuff in her car and took off for the airport. 

Once they got there, they had had about half an hour to wait, so they had sat in the terminal, holding hands, and talking about their future. They both wanted two kids, and they both thought that the Beatles were the greatest group ever, so that took care of the important things, Frannie had said with a huge grin. Of course, they hadn't decided what would happen when and if Turnbull was transferred, but they decided to cross the bridge when they came to it. 

The flight hadn't seemed very long since they had talked non-stop. They had decided to just wing it, so they picked the hotel because they liked the name on the shuttle, rode the shuttle there, and booked themselves a room. The woman behind the desk had tried to flirt with Ren and had asked leading questions about the uniform. This had annoyed Frannie, so she had put an end to Turnbull's stammered replies about the uniform by saying, "Yeah, he's a Mountie, and he's mine. Now, where is the nearest wedding chapel?" He had given her a chiding look, but she leaned up and kissed him, wiping that look away rather quickly. 

While she had gone up to their room to change, Ren had gone in search of rings, telling her he wanted to surprise her. And she had been very surprised when they met down in the lobby forty-five minutes later and he had pulled out a gorgeous a one-carat, radiant-cut diamond engagement ring, and a wedding band with a filigree pattern that wound around the band and matched his wider wedding band. She had balked at the price he must have paid, but he had explained that since he had few material needs, he had been saving most of his salary for years, so he had quite a bit saved up, and now he wanted to spend it on her. Her teasing comment that he was not only cute, but rich too, had earned her a rather deep kiss he ended reluctantly when he realized where they were.

The Graceland Chapel was only a couple blocks away, so they walked along streets that were busy despite it being early morning. They decided not to have Elvis officiating at the wedding although they could have had either the young or the old Elvis and after signing the papers, sat down to wait for a few minutes. While they were waiting, Frannie discovered that her husband-to-be did a very passable Elvis impression, although she had had to promise she wouldn't tell anyone about it. Too bad, it was pretty good. Well, she bet she could get him to do it again, after all she had seen this new nightie from Victoria's Secret; it was red

Frannie came back to the present after she realized that Welsh was saying something to her. "What did you say?"

"Now who's distracted, Frannie" Ray teased her with a grin. 

Seeing the look on Frannie's face, and knowing that this could turn into an all out war, Welsh decided to distract the two by repeating his comment. "I said, this calls for a celebration."

"A wonderful suggestion, Lieutenant. Since we have missed the actual ceremony, may I suggest that we have a reception to celebrate your marriage?"

"Great idea, Fraser, Ren and I talked about it on the flight back. I figure Ma'll want to cook, so the food is taken care of. What do you guys in Canada do at wedding receptions?"

"Wait, don't tell me! You guys bob for trout and make lifetime supply of pelican."

"That's pemmican, Ray, and no, that is just for birthdays."

Everyone laughed at Fraser's sly humor and Ray shook his head, "I've said it before, an' I'll say it again, yer a freak, Fraze." 

Turnbull spoke up, "Constable Fraser, Francesca and I were wondering if you would do us the honor of selecting and reading an Inuit tale appropriate to a wedding. We thought that since we have had a ceremony here in the States, we'd do something from my home for the ceremony with our friends."

Fraser was, for once, speechless, but Ray stepped into the gap. "Oh, man! Ya' mean you are actually ASKING for one of those things? I knew love made you do crazy things, but this?"

Frannie grinned at her kind-of-brother, "Don't protest too much, brother, dear, you get to do the toast. And we want a good one no references to blow-up sheep, got it?" She said pointing a finger in his direction. As he continued to stand there with his mouth open, she mocked, "Close your mouth, Ray, or you'll catch flies." 

Turning to the newlyweds, Fraser regained his voice, "Francesca, Turnbull, I would be honored to do as you have asked. In fact, I believe I know of just the right story for this occasion. I will type it up and show it to you for your approval."

"Great, Fraser, it really means a lot to us." Frannie walked over to the dark-haired Mountie and hugged him before turning to Lt. Welsh. "And, sir? We aren't sure yet exactly what kind of aisle we are going to have, but Renny and I would like you to give me away. You know my dad is dead, and I would really like you to stand in his place."

Harding Welsh had to clear his throat. "Francesca, it would be my very great honor. Thank you."

Frannie and Turnbull beamed at their friends. "We haven't picked an exact date yet, but we figure that a month or so outta give us enough time to plan the reception, right, Ren?" They smiled at each other. "Well, husband, I gotta get ta' work."

Welsh smiled, "Considering the circumstances, Francesca, I'm giving you the week off too. Now get outta here; go have a honeymoon."

Frannie laughed, ran over and hugged Welsh, and then grabbed Turnbull's hand, pulling him out of the office before the Lt. could change his mind. "Don't call us! We'll call you... or not!" They could hear Frannie giggle as the couple dashed out the door.

The three cops and Fraser looked at Welsh in surprise at his generosity. "What? Like I could let Thatcher be the only one? Now get out, all o' you! Get to work!" 

Part 4

~*~*~

They almost had the guest list completed. They had each made out a list of the people "from their side" who they wanted to invite, and now they were compiling the two lists to see what size of a crowd they were looking at for the reception. As Frannie had expected, Ren's list was rather short since both of his parents were dead and his extended family was rather small. That was good since her extended family was rather huge. But they all had to be invited, of course. They were family. You always invited family to weddings, not matter what. Even Aunt Lucia, even though she wouldn't come, and she wouldn't let any of her children come either. Memories ran long in Frannie's family, and the Cannelloni Incident still loomed large in Aunt Lucia's mind. 

"Ren, who is Mr. Parker? Does he work at the Consulate somewhere?

"Oh, no, Francesca, he is my green grocer and owns the small market down the street from my apartment," Turnbull explained.

"You want to invite the guy you buy food from?" Disbelief was clear in her voice, "Why?"

"He is an interesting man, and I have gotten to know him quite well. He knows a great deal about produce; for example, did you know that some farmers pump huge amounts of water into their iceberg lettuce fields to make the heads grow in only a couple of days? But then they have very little taste, so Mr. Parker never carries that kind of produce." Frannie still looked confused, so Turnbull added, "He is always willing to order special ingredients for me, and has hard to find items like the Chantrelle mushrooms I need for my crepe sauce."

Recognition dawned on Frannie's face, "Are these the crepes with chicken and leeks that you were telling me about that dissolve in your mouth?"

"The very same, Francesca."

"When are you going to make 'em for me? They sound great."

"How about tonight? I can run on down to the market and pick-up the requisite ingredients in no time a-tall"

Frannie leaned towards him and ran her hand up his arm and over the slope of his shoulder, coming in almost close enough for a kiss, but not quite closing the gap. "How about you fix the dinner and I'll take care of the evening's entertainment?"

His reply was lost in their kiss.

~*~*~

A semi-circle of orange light spilled in from the street and across the floor, illuminating two pairs of feet, one large with long, narrow toes, and the other much smaller with bright red toenails. 'The curtains. We forgot to draw the curtains,' Renfield Turnbull thought muzzily. The bedroom wasn't very big, so the orange glow had been enough to wake Ren from a light doze. 'Maybe in our new apartment we can have a bedroom without a window right on the street.' Besides, now with two people living here, they needed more room than this cubbyhole some ingenious architect had squeezed into a corner of the building. Plus there was the fact that the neighborhood was not among the safest, and Turnbull didn't like the thought of Francesca being here alone, or having to come home alone late at night. So they were going to go apartment shopping soon. And that meant furniture shopping. Ren became more awake as he thought about how much fun arguing and negotiating over furniture choices was going to be with Frannie. He had a feeling that she wasn't going to immediately go for his more minimalistic and functional choices.

At least they didn't need to buy a new bed; the huge California King had been Ren's one indulgence for himself when he had moved to Chicago. He had been tired of trying to squeeze his large frame into too-short beds, first at the Academy, and later in the housing provided by the RCMP. The large bed dwarfed the room, leaving only the smallest of spaces to walk around it, and he didn't want to even think about trying to manhandle it back out the doorway, but it was worth still it. Ren wiggled his toes just a bit, once again relishing the fact that they didn't hang over the bottom of the mattress. And the extra width gave him and Frannie more than enough room. 

Not that they used that room; the benefits of cuddling and sleeping in each other's arms outweighed any need for space. Ren tightened his arms around his wife, tucking her back more securely against his front. He hadn't decided which way he liked sleeping the best, whether he liked spooning up behind her, or whether sleeping face to face with his arms around her was better. Spooning around her did have the advantage of letting him maximize their body contact without their arms tangling, but it did have the disadvantage of not allowing him to see her face. He liked to watch her face, flushed and rosy with sleep, and run his eyes over the slope of her nose with its slight upturn at the end. But then again, when she was asleep, he couldn't see her eyes, which, really, were his favorite feature of Frannie's. 'Not that they don't have some close runners-up,' Ren thought with a mental giggle, running his hand along her soft skin of the forearm, but her eyes were so expressive and deep. He always felt like he could see all the way to her heart in them.

In fact, they were what had attracted him from the very first time he saw her; her eyes were always so full, so alive. When she was happy, they glowed, and when she was angry, they threw sparks. Not at all like the blank look he tried to keep in his eyes to hide his fears of being inadequate and disgracing the uniform. But he didn't fear mistakes around Francesca; she understood that sometimes he was thinking so quickly and trying so hard to remember everything that he tripped up his tongue, and his feet. Even his parents hadn't understood, not really; oh, they had loved him, but Ren knew that they had thought he was totally incapable of keeping a thought in his head. Ren thought back to the day he had left for the Academy. His mum had been happy for him and tried to hide her doubts about his ability to finish the course, but as disapproving as his father had been at his choice, he hadn't been successful at hiding his relief that he wouldn't need to try and find his son a position in the family firm. That had hurt. As Ren lay there with his new wife snug against him, he wondered what his relationship with his parents might have been like if they had lived to see him finish the Academy, to see that while he was not the ultimate Mountie like Fraser, he was both happy and had found a place in the RCMP.

Thoughts of Fraser pushed Ren's thoughts in a different direction, and leaving melancholy thoughts about his family behind, he let waves of elation break over him at the thought that he had somehow managed to find a way to make Frannie notice him at last. The elation turned into bubbles of joy over the fact that she had not only noticed him, but she had fallen in love with him. How in the world had he, Renfield Turnbull, been able to secure her love with the Mountie who knew all, saw all, and did all, right there next to him? Everyone knew how Frannie had felt about Fraser. But then, a couple of weeks ago, she had noticed him as someone other than a red serge shadow of Fraser. He was quite sure he would remember that day two weeks ago for the rest of his life. She had talked to him, needed him. Or at least his information about country music. 

He had known that it might be his only chance to ever show her how much he cared about her. Thank goodness Jason Parker's apartment had been only a few blocks away, and that the grocer was willing to let Turnbull use his kitchen to whip up lunch for Francesca. He had wanted it all to be perfect, right down to the shine on the silverware. Everything had nearly gone awry, however, when he had almost spilled the sauce all over the table cloth, but he had managed to save the container, the table cloth, and his hopes. 

Sitting across from Frannie in the precinct lunchroom and having a real conversation with her had been wonderful. He was still surprised that he had been able to talk intelligently and remember the title of the song with the mule. There it was again; she slowed him down and made him relax rather than focus on trying to make every single detail around him perfect and failing miserably. With her, he had been able to drown out all the other clamor in his head and focus just on her. He should have known right then, he admitted to himself now, that what he was feeling was more than just fondness. But he hadn't; it hadn't been until later that night that he had understood the depth of his feelings for her. 

Part 5

They had been sitting at that little table in the front row of the concert hall surrounded by their friends. When she had refused to wear the cowboy hat he had brought for her, he had been sure that she was dismissing him again, that the connection they had found at lunch was gone. But a little while later, she had offered to take him home since they were no where near the bus he took to his apartment. And that had been it. A simple kindness. Like her wanting to have a cappuccino machine in the Precinct. He understood that. She just wanted to make things more livable, to smooth out the rough spots, not unlike what he had been trying to do in cleaning the Regal Suite for Miss Jenkins or make ratatouille for the staff at the Consulate. Her offer was all that it took for him to see how much he cared for and loved her.

Later, as they were driving to his apartment, he had felt immobilized by his anxiousness to find a way to show her how much he cared about her. Should he come right out and tell her? Should he send her little notes? Continue to make her lunch and take the relationship slowly? Somehow they had gotten on the subject of their favorite movies, and he had latched onto her idea of watching _Casablanca_ like a parka in sub-zero temperature. Her house was dark as they pulled up the driveway; Mrs. Vecchio and Frannie's sister's family were away visiting relatives for the week, Frannie told him. All of his fears had come plummeting back as she unlocked the door to the quiet house, and he was sure he must have looked like a wooden solider on the sofa as she put in the movie. At least he hadn't set his hat on his knee; that would have been too much even for him. But then the opening strains of the music broke the strained silence, and the drama of the opening scenes drew them in. 

He had watched the light from the movie flickering over her face in the dim room, and he found himself picturing her in the clothes and hairstyles of the day. He was quite sure she would look lovely in the glamorous black and white movies from the Forties. They hadn't said much for a while, just traded laughs over their favorite lines, or commented on the acting. But then they got to the scene in the backroom casino in Rick's where the young couple play roulette in a desperate attempt to raise the cash to escape Casablanca. Watching Rick help them win the money, and then deny the fact that he had fixed the game, had brought up the issue of hiding feelings, and all of a sudden she was telling him about her abusive marriage, and he was telling her about his estranged relationship with his family. Going from opposite ends of the couch to holding each other had been easy. So had kissing her. Ren closed his eyes as he lay in bed and remembered the wetness of her tears against his cheeks and the faint scent of jasmine he could smell in her hair during their first kiss. The next thing he knew, they were lying in each others' arms talking softly and kissing endlessly.

He remembered calling the airline to book tickets to Vegas, but much of the plane ride was a blur. He felt a little like Elizabeth Bennet in _Pride And Prejudice_ ; he had known he was happy rather than feeling so. But he did remember buying the rings. He and Frannie had split up in the lobby of their hotel. He hadn't wanted to go up to the room before they were actually married; the temptation of pulling her down on the bed would have been overwhelming, and he wanted to honor the beginning of their lives together and seal the change in their lives by being married before they made love the first time. So he had asked for her ring size, gone in search of a jewelers, and eagerly anticipated the end of the ceremony. 

As luck would have it, the hotel they had picked had a Ben Bridge jewelry store in the back of its lobby, so he had rushed in and asked to see all of their engagement rings. Clearly the clerk was used to harried looking grooms, and she had very patiently guided him over to the display case. He usually dithered endlessly over purchases, especially important ones, but this wasn't the time for vacillating he was too eager to get back to Frannie, and besides he had found the perfect ring almost immediately. He knew it was hopelessly romantic, but the stone in the ring he had picked for his Frannie had sparkled and shone just like her eyes. He had immediately known that she would love the cut of the stone, and when he saw the wedding band set that went with the engagement ring, he knew he had found the perfect rings. Both wedding bands were simple gold circlets, but the delicate filigree etched around them made the rings very special. 

Armed with two small but elegant gold boxes, he had rushed back towards the lobby. On his way back, he had walked past the windows of the hotel's small convenience store. Looking beyond the suntan lotion and sunglasses ads, he had caught sight of rows and rows of contraceptive products. He had stopped so quickly he had to windmill his arms to keep from tipping over backwards. They'd done a lot of talking on the trip down here, but they'd forgotten this little matter. He hadn't even known if she was on the pill or if she had brought something else along with her. Shaking his head at himself, he thought, 'What a question to forget to ask, Renfield!' They had, however, talked about not having children right away, so he knew they needed to do something. He strode towards the door, determined not to let his embarrassment show. He hated blushing so easily.

Making his way back toward the "personal needs" section, he gazed in awe at the sheer volume of the selection. Sheep skin, colored, flavored, thin, ones with Nonoxil-9 and ones without, boxes and boxes of Trojans, Sheiks, and Lucky13s which were blazoned with the slogan "Now In New Zaney Colors!!" Finally, he grabbed an extra large economy pack; he tried to ease the flush spreading up his cheeks by telling himself that this way the unit price was 2.4 cents cheaper, but he hadn't fooled himself. His face must have been the color of his uniform, but the clerk never even changed expression as he rang the purchase up. 

Grabbing the bagged purchase, he had crammed it into the little pouch on his Sam Browne, and glanced at his watch. Luckily his contraceptive consternation had not taken all that long, and he had still had more then enough time to get back to meet Frannie. Not letting himself run, he had made his way back to the lobby and the column they had agreed to meet under. And, there, leaning against the pillar, trying to look calm, was Frannie. She had been early. But then again, so had he. The sight of her in a blue dress that accentuated her dark hair and skin made him catch his breath. She had caught sight of him as he walked towards her, and as he drew closer she smiled. When he had gotten close enough, he had held out his hand and told her she looked absolutely lovely. Delight widened her smile, and she had taken his hand and said simply, "Shall we?" And they had. 

"What are you thinking about, babe?" he heard Frannie say.

"How did you know I was awake?" He asked contritely.

A smile apparent in her voice, she replied, "Your breathing just sped up. Whatever you're thinking, they must be good thoughts," she continued as she turned in his arms.

Opening his arms and making adjustments to mesh their legs and arms back together, Ren answered her. "I was thinking about finding you in the hotel lobby just before we went to the chapel. I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life."

She pressed a kiss of thanks to his chest and said, "You looked pretty incredible yourself, mister, all spiffy in your red serge."

They lapsed back into silence and their memories, but Frannie soon broke the silence; "I'm glad we decided against having an Elvis impersonator marry us."

"Why? I mean, the regular minister was fine, but what made you think of that?"

"Well, think of how the sequins on the old Elvis' costume would have clashed with your tunic."

It took him a moment to process the comment, and to realize that the body in his arms was shaking with silent giggles. "Mock the uniform will you? Huh?" he demanded in pretended outrage. "That's a capital offence, wife or no!" He said as he grabbed her and started tickling just below her ribs. "We Mounties are always dignified, admit it!"

"No, Ren! No! Stop it!" She gasped out between giggles, and shrieked, "I admit nothing!" Reaching above her head, she blindly groped for a pillow, and finding one, she swung it down over her head, making contact with his shoulder and back.

"Oof!" He yelped. "Oh! You're going to pay for that, Francesca. You're assaulting a peace officer!" He hooted, dodging another blow. "Another capital offence! I'm going to have to arrest you for that!"

"You have no jurisdiction here, buster." She exclaimed maneuvering for position, which wasn't easy considering his long legs and arms.

"Oh, I'll show you jurisdiction," he said with an evil grin. She grinned back, wildly amused at how playful he could get; no one would ever expect it from the way he acted at work. But she got to see it. And benefit from it. 

Suddenly she found herself disarmed and pressed down against the mattress, her arms above her head. "Going to have to frisk you, Ma'am." 

"I know my rights!" She countered.

"You have the right to remain silent, Ma'am," he replied, and covered her mouth in an overwhelming kiss. She decided to return the kiss and let him think he had won. For now.

~*~*~

Part 6

It was 6:30 p.m., and the precinct was deserted. Except for the small group of people gathered in the office in the back of the room, everyone else had gone home, so as the figure in the trench coat walked past the empty desks, there was no one to stop him or ask him why he was there. He could see them all through the glass widows framing the office. The lights were all off where he stood, making the well-lit office seem even brighter as he stood in the shadows. They looked happy, he thought, even though he didn't know what they were discussing. They were all oblivious to him and his gaze as he watched them laughing and talking noisily. He tried to imagine what they were going to do when they saw him, but he really couldn't. 'Why wonder?' he asked himself. 'All you have to do is walk through that door and it will all be over.' 

Taking a deep breath, he left the shadows and continued walking towards the office, only to pause as he saw one of the figures in red serge come up behind Frannie and put his arms around her. What was going on?

The figure in the dark coat took the last few steps to the door and thrust it open. "Someone wanna tell me what the hell a Mountie is doing with his arms around my sister, and why that Mountie is Turnbull?"

"Ray!" The entire room exploded with the noise of everyone saying his name simultaneously and Dief's excited barking.

Frannie broke away from Turnbull and flung herself at her brother, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug. Ray Vecchio hesitated for a moment, but then he enveloped Frannie in his arms and held on tight, refusing to acknowledge the dampness in his eyes. "Hey, Frannie," Ray said softly, "I'm home." He hugged her tight for a long moment, and then looked up to see Fraser standing right next to him.

Squeezing Frannie one last time, Ray pulled away from her and threw his arms around his friend. "Benny!" he said, as Fraser returned the bear hug. 

"It is wonderful to see you, Ray." Fraser said, his voice slightly muffled from the tightness of their hug.

"It sure is, Benny; I'm glad to be home," he said, pulling back slightly. His next words were cut off as Dief rose up and put his paws heavily against the side of Ray's chest, tongue lolling happily. Stumbling a bit against Dief's exuberance, Ray reached up and ruffled the fur around Dief's neck. "Good to see you, too, ya' furball." 

Both men stepped back, and Ray Vecchio's eyes fell on Ray Vecchio... well, Ray Kowalski. Fraser watched his two best friends look at each other. "Ray, I'd like to introduce you to Ray Kowalski, the man who has been so ably covering your absence here in Chicago." The two cops continued to size each other up as Kowalski stepped forward.

"Heard a lot about ya','" he said, thrusting out his hand.

"Likewise, Kowalski, likewise," Vecchio replied, shoving Dief out of the way and taking the offered hand, shaking it. He resisted the urge to squeeze as hard as he could, and the two stepped back, still eyeing the other. 

But the tension between the two cops was broken as Welsh, Huey, and Dewey stepped towards Vecchio and they all began exchanging handshakes, half-hugs, and loud backslaps. It was Welsh who asked the question first.

"What're you doing here? I didn't get any notification that you were coming home."

"Yeah, it was a sudden thing, sir; none of us were expecting it. I was brokering some kind of large arms deal, and the FBI pukes got all the evidence they needed to put the Family away for a long, long time. So Armando disappeared," he finished with a half grin.

"Does Ma know you're back?" Frannie asked.

"Nah, I just got back into town; came here first to start the paperwork," Ray answered.

"Paperwork can wait," Welsh broke in. "Let's go get your mother and go out and celebrate having you home."

Ray stood still in the clamor of his friends agreeing and reaching for their coats. "Hold it. We aren't going anywhere until I get an answer to my question."

"What question is that, Ray?" Fraser asked.

"Why was Turnbull hugging my sister?" Ray shot back, glaring at the blond Mountie.

"Well, you see, Detective Vecchio . . ." Turnbull began, blanching in fear at the menacing look on the other man's face.

"It's ok, Renny, we haven't done anything wrong," Frannie interrupted, rubbing her hand up and down his arm. "Ray, chill. I think you've been knocked-up for too long."

"Uh, that's 'mobbed-up,' Frannie," Ray Kowalski supplied, rocking forwards at the waist and rolling up to the balls his feet. 

"Mobbed-up, hopped up! Whatever," she went on, voice dripping in sarcasm. "Ma knows all about it, Ray, so just chill."

"Ma knows you're going out with Turnbull?" Ray asked in confusion.

"Nope, she knows we're married."

"You're married?" he asked in shock.

"Uh, huh, almost a month now." Frannie said proudly, beaming at her husband.

Renfield took courage from her smile. "Detective Vecchio, I love your sister very much," he choked out. "These last three weeks have been the happiest of my life."

"Call me Ray, Turnbull, seeing as how you seem to be my brother-in-law."

"Thank you, DetecRay. I will take good care of your sister." 

"You better; I got friends, Turnbull," he said with an almost friendly smile, and put out his hand.

"Call me Ren," Turnbull replied with a sickly grin as he took the proffered hand. Everyone around the room sighed a bit in relief, and the tension level dropped once again.

"Damned FBI! They were supposed to be keeping me up to date. You'd think they'd notice a little something like a wedding."

"Well, it actually was a very small wedding, Ray," Frannie said; she had been hoping to delay this conversation.

"Small or not, you'd think a reception with a big cake and you in a white dress might clue them in."

Everyone's head turned back to Frannie to see how she would reply. "Actually, Ray, you are back in time to be at the reception. Isn't that great? It'll be wonderful having you there," she tried to distract him.

It didn't work. "You haven't had the reception? But you said you've been married almost a month."

She was just going to have to say it. "We, um, we eloped. We actually got married in Vegas," she blurted in a rush.

"Vegas? My little sister had her wedding in Vegas?" He spun towards Fraser. "How could you let this happen? I thought you were going to look after her," Ray accused.

"Look after me?" Frannie almost shrieked. "Look after me! Are you telling me you asked Fraser to BABY-SIT me while you were gone?" She advanced towards Ray swinging her arms wildly. Everyone backed away, including Ray; he had faced mob-hitmen in the last year, but an enraged Frannie was a whole different ballgame.

"No!" He protested, looking around for help, "it wasn't like that; I didn't ask, I just knew Benny would keep an eye out."

"Ray never asked me to baby-sit or monitor you, Francesca." Fraser broke in. He knew his duty; he had to help his friend. His resolve almost faltered, however, when she turned on him. Putting out a placating hand, Fraser explained, "But I did believe that he would have wanted me to keep an eye out for you and help where I could."

"Oh, well, that's all right, Benton. As long as Ray didn't ask you to baby-sit me. I don't need a babysitter," she pinned her brother with her eyes.

Ray had more than enough experience with Frannie to know that now was the time to distract her with something else. "So, how did all this happen? When did you fall in love with my sister, Ren?"

"That was my question, too," Ray Kowalski interjected. The two men grinned at each other, their misgivings about each other taking a back seat to being united by their concern for Frannie. "But whadda say we go and get Ma, uh, yer mom, and order Chinese or something."

"Great idea, gentlemen," Welsh said, eager to keep the conversation away from touchy subjects. "You have your car, Francesca, don't you?" Seeing her nod, he continued working out logistics. "So that takes care of you and Turnbull. How about you and Fraser drive Vecchio, Kowalski, and Huey, Dewey, you ride with me?" 

"Sounds good, L.T." Kowalski said, grabbing his keys out of his pocket and tossing them up in the air. "Let's motor!"

They all walked out to the parking lot together, excitedly talking and already beginning to trade stories and news. They got to Kowalski's GTO first, and as the rest of the group began to split off, Vecchio said, "Cool wheels, man." He ran his hand along the fender. "Cherry shine. Hey, is the Riv at the house?"

"Oh, dear."

~*~*~

Part 7

"Ray? Can I talk to you for a minute?" Frannie asked, walking into the den. She and Ren were at the house finishing the little favors to put on the tables at the reception, although at the moment, Ren was outside playing with the kids.

"Sure, Frannie," Ray Vecchio said, looking up from his recliner and lowering the newspaper to his lap, "what's up?"

She sat down on the arm of the couch right next to his chair. "Well, it's a favor," she began.

"I'm not letting you borrow the Riv. I'm not letting anyone near it considering what happened last time I let it out of my sight." 

"It has nothing to do with your stupid car!" Frannie clenched her teeth with determination; she wouldn't fight with her brother. She was a married woman now. Besides she no longer had to put up with living with him. "Ray and Benton did a great job of restoring it. Admit it; you're just bitching on principle."

"Maybe," he said. "Whadda want?"

"It's about the reception."

"Yeah?"

Taking a deep breath, she continued. "Well, it's about the whole giving me away thing. Back when I married Gino"

"That bastard!" Ray interrupted.

"Thank you, Ray," she said softly, squeezing his arm in gratitude and forgetting her irritation with him. "Anyway, you walked me down the aisle before and that was really great of you, and I loved it but I was wondering if you would be really hurt if someone else did it this time?"

"You haven't asked Fraser to do it, have you?"

"Nah! He's doing an Inuit blessing for us; see, before you got back, I asked Lieutenant Welsh if he would walk me down the aisle, and he was so great while you were gone, dropping by every once in a while, checking in with Ma, stuff like that, that we really want him to be part of this."

Ray smiled and put his hand on top of the hand Frannie was resting on his arm. "You bet, Frannie. I understand; whatever makes you happy. You do know I want you to be happy, don't you, Sis?"

Frannie leaned forward and kissed her brother's cheek. "I am happy, Ray; Ren makes me very happy. Thanks for understanding. But Renny and I aren't letting you off the hook entirely. Would you answer the priest when he does the "who gives this woman" thing?"

"You're gonna split duties like that?" Ray asked.

"Yeah, why not, Bro, it's our wedding; we wanna do it our way. But you won't say the whole "who gives this woman" thing, we have a different way to say it. So, will you do it?"

"Sure, Frannie, just tell me what you want me to say, and I'm your man." The two siblings smiled at each other as Frannie filled him in.

~*~*~

Ma Vecchio stood in her kitchen spreading sauce over layers of ricotta and homemade pasta in the last tray of lasagna for the reception. She had been baking and cooking for a week and a half straight, and she wasn't sure she ever wanted to see another piece of lasagna or her special cannelloni, but it wasn't everyday that your little girl got married, or had a reception. And at least this newly rebuilt kitchen had more counter space and a bigger oven. Something good had come out of the fire. 

She could hear the voices of two of her children in the den. It was so good to hear Raymundo's voice in the house again; she had missed him so terribly much. A moment ago, when Frannie had gotten up from the kitchen table where she had been making the favors and center pieces and said, "Be right back, Ma," Ma had worried that her younger daughter was going to go tease her son about something, but they had been talking for several minutes with hardly any raised voices. Francesca certainly had grown up over the last month. But then, marriage has a way of doing that, Ma reflected. For a time she had thought Benton would be the one for Francesca, and she had even thought about promoting the match. But now Mrs. Vecchio could see that neither Francesca nor Benton were right for each other. 

She liked Renfield, and he and Francesca balanced each other well. Now she just needed to find wives for her Raymundo, her Benton, and her other Ray, the one she had adopted like a son, and all would be will with her children. Best to let Raymundo settle back in and rebalance his life before seeking someone for him, and she thought Ray Kowalski needed a bit longer to get over his ex-wife, but Benton... she would have to ask Raymundo about that Meg Thatcher she had heard Turnbull speak of, and Benton mention occasionally. No, even better would be to speak to Renfield himself; her new son-in-law must have seen Benton interact with his boss far more than her son. Yes, that would be the best way. After all, the two Canadians would both be at the reception, and everyone knows that weddings make other weddings. Yes, good. Another tray of lasagna finished, and perhaps another match finished too.

~*~*~

Inspector Thatcher strode along the hallway of her domain carrying a folder of papers for Constable Fraser to look over. Stopping to straighten a picture hanging on the wall, she heard voices coming from Fraser's office. One of them sounded quite panicked. Concerned, she stepped to the doorway.

". . . and so they called us late last night to tell us that the water damage is much too extensive to be fixed by Saturday, and that while they're sorry for the inconvenience, we will not be able to have our reception at their building!" Constable Turnbull's voice was now nearing hysteria.

"Constable Turnbull, take a deep breath." When he had complied, Meg continued, "I take it there's a problem with the hall for your reception?"

"Yes, Ma'am. A large water main on the west side of the building, right above the room we were going use, burst yesterday afternoon, and while the hall is going to refund our money, and they are trying to find us another location, there're only two days left before Saturday, I don't know where we will find an appropriate venue at this late date. Francesca is quiet upset."

"Yes, I'm sure she is, Turnbull," Thatcher said, quite able to imagine an upset Francesca Turnbull. God, what a thought: even more terrifying than a panicked Renfield Turnbull.

"I take it the hall at the church the Vecchios attend is booked?" Fraser asked.

"Yes, Ma'am, it is; we asked there first." Turnbull's voice rose another octave as he put his hands to his face. "What're we going to do?"

Thatcher and Fraser looked at each other trying to think of some answer that would help. Suddenly, Meg's face cleared. "I have the perfect solution, Turnbull." she said briskly. "I don't know why we didn't think of it in the first place. Why don't you call your wife and ask her if using the banquet room here at the Consulate would be amenable? We don't have a function here this weekend, and our facilities here are, of course, excellent. There should be more than enough room. There's even a kitchen, and we have more than enough tables and chairs."

Turnbull's hands dropped to his sides as he began to radiate relief, "Inspector Thatcher! I don't know how to thank you! Having the reception here at the Consulate would be perfect!" He clasped his hands in front of him, "Oh! I have to tell Francesca we can still have the reception! Oh!" Spinning around and grabbing his hat from where he had set it on Fraser's desk, he dashed out of the room, evidently not hearing Thatcher call after him:

"The phone! Turnbull, you can use the phone!" Her last word was punctuated by the slamming of the front door. Shaking her head, she turned back to Fraser, "I don't think I will ever understand that man."

"I do not know if it's possible to understand Turnbull. That was a very generous offer, Inspector." Fraser said softly.

"Yes, well, we couldn't have Turnbull in such a state, could we?" She asked with a smile. "All the dust would get filed under "D," and there would be papers scattered everywhere." Shifting back into a more official tone, she continued, "Luckily, they're already married and just having a blessing of their vows, so there won't be any problems with jurisdiction. I understand that you're going to be taking part in the ceremony, Constable.

"Yes, I will be recounting the Inuit blessing Francesca and Turnbull have selected."

Meg Thatcher stood transfixed as she pictured Fraser standing up in front of people gathered for the ceremony, his deep voice resonating as he spoke, gazing deeply into his eyes as she said'Get a hold of yourself, Margaret,' she told herself sternly. Out loud she said, "I'll look forward to it. We had better start counting tablecloths, Constable."

"I'll get the napkins, Sir." Fraser said, following her out the room. 'I wonder if she'll wear red to the reception," he thought to himself.

~*~*~

part 8

Margaret Thatcher tossed the last of the tablecloths up in the air and smoothed it down across the surface of the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Francesca Turnbull pacing back and forth near the table she and Turnbull were going to stand in front of during the ceremony, muttering. She and Francesca had been working together for the past half hour to get the room ready for tomorrow, but they had barely said anything to each other. Deciding it was time to break the silence, Thatcher asked, "Is there something wrong with the table?"

"What? Oh, no, it's just that at the hall, they had a lattice arch-thing for us to stand under, so I'm trying to figure out what to do now that we don't have it. I mean, we don't need an altar since we aren't getting married again; we just need this little table for the candles, but it seems awfully plain without the arch, ya' know?

Meg pondered Francesca's words, "No, we don't have an arch"

Frannie cut her off, "I'm not complaining! I mean, it is so great of you to let us do this here, especially at such short notice. I don't know what we would've done if you hadn't offered."

"It was a logical solution; after all Turnbull is an employee of the Consulate." Seeing the enthusiasm dim on the bride's face, Meg castigated herself, 'Why did you have to retreat into formality?' Trying to make amends, she went on, "We don't have an arch, but we do have some wooden screens that look quite nice, and some potted silk trees we could use." Walking over to the front of the room to stand next to Frannie, she started visualizing the decorations.

Gesturing with her arms to show the other woman what she meant, she said, "If we put two trees here on either side, and a screen behind the table, we could find some flowered garland to frame the screen and soften it a little... I think it would look quite attractive," she finished.

'Who knew Inspector Thatcher was so crafty?' Frannie thought to herself. "Yeah, and then maybe we could get a lace runner or something from Ma to put on the table here."

"I think that sounds lovely, Francesca."

"Uh, you know, you could call me Frannie; it's easier. I mean, I know Fraser and Ren call me 'Francesca,' but that's just cuz they're Mounties, ya' know?"

Hearing what she had just said, and seeing the stricken look on Thatcher's face, Frannie put her hand on Meg's arm. "Oh, my God; way to put my foot in it! I didn't mean it the way that sounded; I'm so sorry! It's just that they have the uniforms and the hats and all, and I've never seen you in the uniform," she babbled contritely.

The Canadian woman smiled slightly, trying to ease Frannie's embarrassment, "Don't worry, I understand; I've always thought it was having to keep the hat on straight that makes them so stiff," she joked; "I wasn't sorry to leave that hat behind," she continued, looking slightly surprised at the confidences she was sharing. Seeing the relief on Frannie's face, she thought, 'In for a penny, in for a pound!' "If I can call you Frannie, please call me Meg."

"Wow! Thanks, I'd like that. I think the trees will look really nice." 

The two women looked at each other feeling like some indefinable barrier had just fallen. They had each let the other see past the surface Frannie with her contriteness, Meg with her small secret but now neither of them knew quite what to do about it. 

"You keep moving forward, Margaret," she heard her grandmother's voice echo in her head, and so, smiling again, Meg replied, "There's a craft store about ten minutes away; why don't we go and find some garlands to decorate the screen?"

"Sure, my car is right out front, if you want." As they walked across the room to go get their purses, Frannie continued talking. "If one more thing goes wrong, I think I'll explode. We thought it would be so easy; just a little reception! Hah! Just watch, tomorrow morning, I'm gonna be getting dressed and one of the kids will spill something on my dress."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Thatcher soothed. "Are you going to be getting ready at your mother's?"

"Yeah, actually, Ren and I decided that I'll sleep over at Ma's t'night just for fun and to make it seem more formal, ya' know?"

"Will you need any help getting dressed in the morning? I wasn't in the room before my sister's wedding, but she had quite a few people helping her." 

"Oh, no, that's really kind of you to offe..." Frannie looked up and saw the slightly pinched expression around Meg's eyes, and responding to what looked like remembered hurt at being left out at her sister's wedding, changed her mind. "Well, ya' know, it's not like I'm gonna have a big frothy dress to get into, but it would be great to have you there. That way Ma an' Maria can ride herd on the kids and make sure all the food gets in the car."

"I would like that, Frannie." She replied, "Is your mother making all the food?"

As Frannie answered and they walked down the Consulate steps, their thoughts unknowingly echoed each other's; 'Good Lord, are we becoming friends?'

~*~*~

Part 9 

Frannie had managed to make it to the Consulate in more than enough time, but she was very glad she had had Meg at the house to help keep things focused. All the food had gotten transported too, none of it on Frannie's dress, and it was all staged and ready to be served after the ceremony. She now sat in Meg's office trying to calm down. "This is silly," she said.

"What is?" her sister replied.

"We're already married I know he loves me I shouldn't be this nervous," Frannie whimpered, pressing a hand against her nervous stomach.

"It's different doing it in front of friends and family, Fran. Don't worry, you'll be fine."

"Thanks, Maria." She decided to try that square breathing thing Fraser had told her about. Breath in, breath out, picture each in and out as one side of a square, and keep the breaths even and slow. It was helping. Some.

At the same time the sisters were having this conversation, across the way all the guests were seated and everything was set to begin, so Harding Welsh stepped across the hall and tapped on the door, saying, "It's me; you ladies ready?" He was dressed in a nice suit and tie, which was already starting to pinch, 'Well, at least I don't have to wear a tux,' he thought as he stepped into the room. 

"See you inside, Sis," Maria said, slipping out the door.

Frannie stepped forward, smiling a little shakily at her boss. She was dressed simply in a long cream-colored dress with a long line of buttons down the front and a scoop neck. 

Welsh admired the picture that she made standing, framed by the window with flowers in her hair and in her hands. "The flowers in your hair look very nice."

"Yeah," Frannie smiled, "an' this way, no veil; you know me and hats."

"Yes, I do. Shall we, Francesca?"

Taking his arm, he and Frannie stepped out into the hall where Fraser and Dief stood waiting. "You look lovely," Fraser said to the woman he regarded as a sister. "Renfield is inside waiting, and Diefenbaker knows what he is supposed to do; everything is ready." 

"So you're all set, huh, Dief?" Frannie asked, reaching down to pat the wolf, who, for this day only, was suffering through having his collar decorated with flowers that matched Frannie's small bouquet. "I know you are going to be a great flower wolf." The wolf huffed his agreement and waited for Fraser to hand him the item he was to carry. 

Fraser gave it to the wolf, and Dief held it lightly in his teeth. While the wolf waited by the double doors for his cue, Fraser stepped into the room and signaled that Frannie and Welsh were ready. Since Frannie and Turnbull were not actually getting remarried, they had decided to keep things simple and not have bridesmaids or ushers. Dief was their only attendant. 

Seeing Fraser's signal, Huey and Dewey started the music on the small sound system they were in charge of for the ceremony and reception, although they were under strict instructions from Frannie to not tell any jokes. As the opening notes of Pachelbel's "Canon in D" sounded, they left their post to discharge their other duty. Walking to the small table in the front of the room, they waited patiently for a moment. 

Back in the hallway, Fraser told Dief that is was time, and with his tail high, Dief began trotting down the aisle towards the small table where Huey and Dewey stood waiting. Murmurs rose from the guests as they shifted in their seats to try and get a better view of the sight of what seemed to be wolf at a wedding, and of what he was cradling in his mouth. 

Reaching the front, Dief yielded the wooden object to Huey and went to sit with the two Rays, who were both sitting in the front row next to Ma Vecchio. Those who were still watching Dief warily, trying to decide if he was really a wolf, missed Huey and Dewey setting the small wooden kayak Fraser had carved on the little table and setting three candles in it, a large one and two smaller ones, one on each side of the taller one. Lighting the two smaller candles, they stepped away from the front of the room, their task over.

Frannie and Welsh watched though a crack in the double doors in the back as Mrs. Vecchio and Margaret Thatcher rose to complete the rest of the candle ceremony. Approaching the table from opposite sides of the aisle, and standing facing the group, the two women each took one of the smaller candles, and moving as one, lit the candle in the middle. As the unity candle caught, they put their candles back into the small kayak, and smiling at each other, sat back down to await the bride and her escort.

Through the crack in the doors, Frannie could see Turnbull taking his place in front of their friends, along with Father Behan. "Oh, God," she said softly.

"Piece o' cake, Francesca," Welsh replied, patting the hand looped through his arm.

Letting Fraser open the doors, Frannie and Welsh began walking down the aisle. Frannie kept her eyes locked on the figure in the red dress uniform at the front of the room, but she could hear the murmurs of her friends and family and the strains of Pachelbel as she got closer to the man she was about to recommit her life too. She and Renny had thought it would be kinda funny to come down the aisle to an instrumental version of that old The Guess Who song, "American Woman," but then they figured that they were going to upset enough of her family by not having a Catholic Mass and by having an Inuit myth as part of the ceremony, so they decided to cool it. Now she was glad they had; Pachelbel seemed much more fitting as she moved down the aisle.

As they walked down the center of the room, Fraser slipped down the side, and he was sitting in his seat in the front row of Turnbull's side, next to Meg Thatcher, in time to be able to see Ray Vecchio clearly as his friend stood up when Frannie and Welsh reached the end of the aisle.

"Who supports this woman in her decision to join her life with Renfield?" Father Behan asked as Frannie and Welsh came to a stop in front of him.

Ray answered with great pride in his voice, saying, "Her mother, her friends, and I all support Francesca in her decision," and sat back down, grabbing his mother's hand and holding tight.

Frannie and Turnbull also joined hands as Welsh sat down on the other side of his officers, and they turned towards Father Behan. Turnbull could feel her hands beneath his own, the warmth of her touch spreading calm through out his body. All of his nervousness vanished. As did the memory of actually having trouble getting into his jodhpurs this morning because he had been so distracted. The purpose of all the pomp and ceremony struck him as he stood there in front of their friends, co-workers, and family; he and Francesca were making a significant transition in their lives, and the rituals of getting married not only allowed them all to celebrate life, it also give them a starting point from which to begin their new life together. Suddenly, he was fiercely proud of the fact that they had decided to have a reception, to celebrate with others, and to not just leave it at having eloped. The fact that they were actually already married was of no consequence. They were here to celebrate and observe the beginning of their new life together. He was also fiercely proud of Francesca. Squeezing her hands, he tried to convey his excitement. The look in her eyes as she squeezed back made him believe she understood. 

The priest smiled at them beneficently. "Well, Francesca, I have known you almost all of your life, so it is very exciting to be here helping you reaffirm your vows to Renfield. You have come a long way from that little girl with pig-tales who wanted to know how angels fly." Pausing for a moment to let the laughter settle, he continued, this time talking to the group looking back at them, "I am here to add a bit of solemnity to this occasion, and to make the blessing official, but Francesca and Renfield have chosen their own words. So let us begin." He paused briefly before speaking again. "Renfield, do you reaffirm your commitment to this woman?"

"I do, Father." Renfield replied in a steady though quiet voice. Gazing into his wife's eyes, he said "Francesca, you are my friend and my lover, and I feel incredibly blessed that you have chosen me to be your husband. As we build our life together, I will support you in your life and your decisions, holding you when you need it, but never holding you back." He had to take a deep breath as he saw tears swimming in here eyes. "I think the old words are the best; I will keep myself only unto you for so long as we both shall live. I love you." 

"Francesca," Father Behan spoke again, "do you reaffirm your commitment to this man?"

"I do, Father," she replied. Her voice a little shaky, she returned Turnbull's gaze. "Ren, the time since I discovered my love for you has been the happiest time of my life. You make me feel strong when I am afraid, and the thought of spending the rest of our lives together gives me more joy than I can possibly express. Thank you for listening to me and supporting me; I promise to do the same for you. No matter where this life will take us, I will be with you, holding your hand and building a life together. I love you."

Breaking gently into the spell the two had just cast over each other, Father Behan went on to say a brief prayer and to bless the union before saying, "And now Francesca and Renfield would like to invite Constable Fraser to continue this blessing." Waving a welcoming hand, the priest went to sit down.

Part 10

Fraser stepped up and taking the priest's place, looked out over the gathered group. "Thank you, Father," he began. "It is my great honor to be here to help my friends, Francesca and Renfield, celebrate the joining of their lives." All three of them smiled at each other. Looking back out at the group of people in front of him, Fraser went on. "They have asked me to recount an Inuit tale, and after consideration, we decided on a part of a story that translates to 'Blessed Gift of Joy is Bestowed Upon Man.'" Taking a deep breath, Fraser began to weave the myth.

"Once there was a time when men knew no joy. Their whole life was work, food, digestion, and sleep. They toiled, they slept, they awoke again to toil. Monotony rusted their minds.

"In these days there was a man and his wife who lived alone in their dwelling not far from the sea. At this time, their son, who was called Ermine, liked best to stalk caribou, whereas his father preferred to hunt sea creatures. It soon came about that the son was allowed to go where he pleased inland while the father rowed to sea in his kayak." For once, neither Ray made any comments about Inuit tales, but listened as Fraser drew them in.

"One day, while out stalking caribou as usual, Ermine suddenly caught sight of a mighty eagle circling over him." Fraser said, gesturing up with one hand to mimic the wheeling eagle, "Ermine pulled out his arrows, but did not shoot as the eagle flew down and settled on the ground a short distance from him. Here it took off its hood and became a young man who said to the boy:

"'I will kill you unless you promise to hold a festival of song when you get home. Will you or won't you?' 

"'Gladly,'" Ermine quickly replied, "'but I don't understand what you say. What is song? What is a festival?'

"'Will you or won't you?'" Fraser continued.

"'Gladly, but I don't know what it is.'

"The eagle replied, 'If you follow me my mother will teach you what you don't understand. Others have scorned the gifts of song and merrymaking; they would not learn, so I killed them. Now you may come with me, and as soon as you have learned to put words together into a song and to sing itas soon as you have learned to dance for joy, you shall be free to go home to your dwelling.'

"'I'll come with you,'" answered Ermine. And off they set." Fraser shifted his feet and continued speaking, augmenting the story with motions of his hands.

"The eagle was no longer a bird but a big strong man in a gleaming cloak of eagles' feathers. They walked and they walked, farther and farther inland, through gorges and valleys, onward to a high mountain, which they began to climb. And they clambered on over the mountain, up and up until they had a wide view over the plains of the Caribou hunters."

"But as they approached the crest of the mountain, they suddenly heard a throbbing sound, which grew louder and louder the nearer they came to the top. 

"'Do you hear anything?'" asked the eagle. 

"'Yes, it is like nothing I've ever heard before.' 

"'It is the beating of my mother's heart,'" answered the eagle.

"So they approached the eagle's house, built right on the uttermost peaks. They entered a big room, fashioned like the dwellings of men, and on the bunk, sat the eagle's mother, aged and sad. Her son now said: 

"'Here's a man who has promised to hold a song festival when he gets home. But he says men don't understand how to put words together into songs, nor even how to beat drums and dance for joy. Mother, men don't know how to make merry, and now this young man has come up here to learn.' 

No one spoke or shifted in their seats as Fraser's voice swelled, resonating around the room, as he said, "This speech brought fresh life to the feeble old mother eagle, and her tired eyes lit up suddenly while she said: "'First you must build a feast hall where many men may gather.'

"So the two young men set to work and built the feast hall, which is called a kagsse and is larger and finer than ordinary houses. And when it was finished the mother eagle taught them to put words together into songs and to add tones to the words so that they could be sung. She made a drum and taught them to beat upon it in rhythm with the music, and she showed them how they should dance to the songs. When Ermine had learned all this she said: 

"'Before every festival you must collect much meat, and then call together many men. This you must do after you have built your feast hall and made your songs.' 

"'But we know of no men but ourselves,' answered Ermine. 

"'Men are lonely because they have not yet received the gift of joy. Make all your preparations as I have told you. When all is ready you shall go out and seek for men. Gather them until they are many in number. Then hold your festival of song.' Thus spoke the old mother eagle. 

"Thereupon, the young eagle again drew on his shining cloak and bade his guest bestride his back and put his arms round his neck. Then he threw himself out over the mountainside. A roaring sound was heard around them and Ermine thought his last hour had come. But this lasted only a moment; then the eagle halted and bade him open his eyes. And there they were again at the place where they had met. They bade each other a cordial farewell.

"Ermine hastened home to his parents and related all his adventures to them, and he concluded his narrative with these words: "'Men are lonely; they live without joy because they don't know how to make merry. Now the eagle has given me the blessed gift of rejoicing, and I have promised to invite all men to share in the gift.'

"Father and mother listened in surprise to the son's tale and shook their heads incredulously, for he who has never felt his blood glow and his heart throb in exultation cannot imagine such a gift as the eagle's. A feast hall, matching the eagle's was built, and the larder was filled with the meat of sea creatures and caribou. Father and son combined joyous words, describing their dearest and deepest memories in songs which they set to music; also they made drums, rumbling tambourines of taut caribou hides with round wooden frames; and to the rhythm of the drum beats that accompanied the songs they moved their arms and legs in frolicsome hops and lively antics." Fraser began to smile, and as he continued, so did his listeners. "Thus they grew warm both in mind and body, and began to regard everything about them in quite a new light. Many an evening they joked and laughed, flippant and full of fun, at a time when they would otherwise have snored with sheer boredom the whole evening through. 

"As soon as all the preparations were made, Ermine went out to invite people to the festival that was to be held. To his great surprise he discovered that he and his parents were no longer alone as before. Merry men find company. Suddenly he met people everywhere, strange looking people, some clad in wolf skins, others in the fur of the wolverine, the red fox, the silver foxin fact, in the skins of all kinds of animals. Ermine invited them to the banquet in his new feast hall and they all followed him joyfully. Then they held their song festival, each producing his own songs. There was laughter, talk, and sound, and people were carefree and happy as they had never been before."

"For they had learned joy, and they were happy." Fraser's voice changed tone as he looked back and forth between the couple in front of him. "And now, Francesca and Renfield, you have learned joy. Your love has made your blood glow and your hearts throb in exultation. Because of this, your lives will be filled with merriment, a merriment you will share with your family and friends, and pass on to your children." Looking deeply into their eyes, Fraser concluded the tale by saying, "May the Blessed Gift of Joy follow you throughout your lives."

The only sounds filling the room were some quiet sniffles as many of the guests wiped away a few tears. Turnbull let go of one of Francesca's hands to reach into his pocket and took out a handkerchief. "A Mountie is always prepared," he said softly, as he wiped a few tears from Frannie's face. Returning the handkerchief to his pocket, they turned once again to Fraser.

Part 11

Fraser looked back over the gathered friends and family. "Renfield and Francesca have selected an Apache prayer to conclude their ceremony." Shifting his focus back to the bride and groom, Fraser once again began to recite from memory.

"Now you will feel no rain for each of you will be shelter for the other."

"Now you will feel no cold for each of you will be warmth for the other."

Fraser knew that the blessing was meant for the couple in front of him, and that all of his attention should be focused on them, but as he said the next line of the prayer, something made him look up, and he caught Margaret Thatcher's eye. 

"Now there is no more loneliness." 

She had tears in her eyes, and in the instant before Fraser continued with the next line, their eyes locked, and Fraser could feel the connection even though five feet separated them. He held her eyes as he continued, 

"Now you are two persons but there is only one life before you. " 

Wrenching his eyes away, Fraser focused on completing the poem, feeling like his heart was even more full of joy than it had been at being here, helping his friends celebrate their wedding.

"May your days together be good and long upon the earth."

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to reintroduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Renfield Turnbull."

The room exploded into applause as Fraser stepped back and Ren and Frannie gave each other a heartfelt kiss. 

They broke the kiss a few moments later, but they did not release each other. Ren left his arms around Frannie's waist and she kept both hands on his shoulders, although they separated enough to turn slightly towards the group, making a sort of "V" with their bodies. Frannie could feel the roughness of the serge under her hands, and had a fleeting thought that she was glad she didn't have to wear something so itchy, but the thought was gone quickly as she began to speak. "We'd like to thank everyone for coming to help us celebrate. We're gonna go and take some pictures with the family for a few minutes, but then we'll be back. Ma made her special lasagna and cannelloni, so we've gotta feast. Oh, and we've got those little disposable cameras on each table, so everyone can take pictures and help us see what went on today. See you in a few minutes."

Still holding hands, they helped Ma round up all the family, watching as she insisted that Fraser, Ray Kowalski, and Meg Thatcher all join them for the family shots. No one said no to Ma Vecchio when she put her mind to something. And she definitely had her mind set on this. They were family, end of discussion. Of course, Ma thought to herself as they moved through the permutations of family groupings and poses, if she happened to frequently place her Benton and Meg Thatcher so that they near each other, well, who was to say that it wasn't pure coincidence? She watched them carefully as they stood near each other, and her eagle eyes ('Ha!' she thought, 'kind of like that old lady eagle in Benton's story!') caught the way Meg began fidgeting with the ring on her right hand, rotating it around her finger with her thumb, when Fraser came near. She also saw that Benton ran the back of his thumb over his eyebrow more often when he was next to his boss. They tried to hide it, but she was a mother; she saw these things. Now what to do about it?

Neither Meg nor Fraser were used to the tumult of such a large family, so a few minutes later when Ma suggested that they go on out to the kitchen and check on the lasagna, they accepted with alacrity. Ray Kowalski started to go with them, but Ma called him back saying she needed him. He looked at her strangely, but he knew that look in her eye and obeyed; he knew better than to risk having his supply of manicotti cut off.

The kitchen seemed shockingly quiet after being surrounded by the clamor of the extended Vecchio family. The two Mounties moved around the room checking to see that the lasagna was heating evenly, and that the breadsticks were ready to go into the oven. Doing these tasks, however, took only a small amount of their concentration. The rest of their minds were focused on trying to watch the other without being observed. She kept seeing him standing in front of everyone looking more handsome than any one man had the right to be. 'How does he get his hair to stay like that?' She thought.

He kept picturing the look he had seen when their eyes had met during the Apache prayer. He wanted to ask about what he hoped he had seen, but the last time he had opened his heart and acted on what he thought he had seen in a woman's eyes, it had ended in a catastrophe. His inability to speak frustrated him, but sometimes it was better not to ask, not to know. Knowing could lead to disaster, and he did not know if he could survive that again. So he remained silent, darting looks at her out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't wearing a true red today, but a deep burgundy, and the color made her eyes flash and sparkle.

Finally Meg couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Do they have someone to carry the trays of lasagna out and serve them?"

"Yes, some of the cousins are doing it, Dulcinea and Karolina, I believe. They should be along in a moment; they're taking pictures and then helping their grandmother get settled."

"I see." Another pause. "It was very generous of them to include us in the pictures."

"They're a generous family," Fraser replied with a small smile as he crimped foil around another tray of bread. "From the first time I visited their house, I was made to feel welcome. Although they can be a bit overwhelming at times."

Meg couldn't hold back a small snort of agreement. "That is an understatement! I want a copy of the picture with Turnbull, Frannie, you and I. It'll be a nice momento of this posting." As soon as the words were out she could have bitten her tongue. Why had she had to bring up the prospect of an end to this posting?

Fraser's hands froze. "Are you leaving?"

"Oh, no, I just mean for some time in the future."

"Ah." Fraser's hands continued.

Part 12

'Could you have thought of a faster conversation killer, Margaret?' She castigated herself. Now what? Casting her eyes desperately around the room, she saw some of the carrots on one of the trays were cut into pieces too large to eat easily. "Those carrots need to be trimmed," she said, walking over to the trays and getting out a knife. He looked disconcerted at the non-sequitor, but did not question her. 'Brilliant, just brilliant," she continued torturing herself, 'you're an Inspector in the RCMP, surely you can think of better topics of conversation!' "You did a wonderful job telling the story, Fraser. Where did you find it?" she said finally and began cutting the carrots.

"My grandmother took me to an Inuit festival one summer, and I heard one of the elders telling it there. I recited only a portion of it today." 

Mentioning his storytelling was a mistake, however, because the memory of the animation on his face and the way his hands had moved distracted her. Instead of paying attention to cutting the carrots, she got lost in the way his voice had sounded as he had talked about man's quest for joy. 'What would it be like to find joy in Benton Fraser's arms?' But the thought was abruptly cut off as she sucked in her breath and dropped the knife with a clatter on the counter. 

She barely had enough time to exclaim in pain before Fraser was at her side, turning her towards the light so he could see what had happened. Cradling her hand in his larger ones, he gently probed her finger. "It's all right," he assured her, "it is just a small cut. It isn't very deep and won't bleed for long." Reaching back to get his handkerchief, he looked up at her face, concern evident in his eyes. "Are you all right?" 

She never answered him; their eyes locked once again, and the connection they had felt during the ceremony came flooding back. Awash in feelings that he couldn't control, Fraser ignored the handkerchief, and raising her hand to his lips, he kissed the small cut, soothing and comforting far more effectively than the cloth ever could have. 

Her eyes grew even wider at the touch of his lips on her skin. She had almost forgotten how incredibly warm he was, and how firm his lips felt. In an instant the memory of kissing him on top of the train car filled her mind, and she was sure that the heat of that moment was reflected in her eyes. She could feel more of her emotional walls tumbling down, and unable to stop herself, she reached up with her other hand and cupped his face.

His eyes seemed as deep as a glacial pools as he lowered the hand still cradling hers and tipped his face to press his cheek firmly against her open palm; 'Oh, no,' she thought, 'he has me thinking in cliches!' But the ghost of horrified amusement was gone as quickly as it had come. When he turned his head and placed a sliding kiss across her palm, all the while keeping eye contact with her, she knew her resistance was over. Sliding her hand from his face down to his shoulder, she pulled him towards her and kissed him.

Exultation swept through him as he felt her pulling him towards her. He tucked their linked hands against their chests and wrapped his other arm tightly across the middle of her back. Deepening the kiss, he thought, 'Joy, this is joy,' but he didn't pursue the thought as he got lost in the feeling of her lips moving beneath his, and the silk of her dress under his palm. One of them moaned, but the way it echoed through both of them, it was impossible to tell where the sound has originated. Not that it really mattered.

Ray Kowalski came barreling through one of the swinging doors. He was intent on making his escape from two distant Vecchio cousins who had been insisting on fondling the merchandise.

'Must be something about the women in that family,' he thought, and pushing through the doors, was already speaking. "Hey, the cousins wanted me t'" and sputtered to a stop as he saw the two Mounties in each other's arms.

Breaking apart as if they were propelled, both Canadians turned horrified eyes on the cop. Words came exploding out of both of their mouths; "We were just" she protested.

"I was attempting" Fraser supplied, only to come to an abrupt stop when he realized she was trying to speak.

They looked at each other and then back at Ray. "Inspector Thatcher cut her finger, and I was attempting to render first aid"

"And ya' had to do the Buddy Breathing thing. Nah, I got it." Ray cut in, working to control the whole lower half of his face. He watched Fraser struggle to find a way not to agree with such an obfuscation, and decided to take pity on his friend. "Dulcinea and Karolina wanted me to come in and tell ya' they would be right along. Grandma Vecchio needed some extra help or sumthin.' I'll, uh, I'll see ya' back out there," he told them, and vanished back out the swinging door.

"Uhm, I'll just"

"Perhaps you should"

"Yes, I will go and see that he does not"

"I'll stay here and wait for the two women."

"Understood." With a last lingering look, he followed the blond cop out the door.

~*~*~

 

Ray Kowalski walked across the room full of people and went to stand next to Ray Vecchio, who was leaning against a wall watching his relatives, a bottle of beer hanging from his hand.

"What's with the grin? You look like you just made the bust of the year, or somethin.'" Vecchio asked.

"Just caught Fraser and Thatcher in a lip-lock in the kitchen."

The Italian cop pushed himself away from the wall. "No way. Fraser's kissing the Dragon Lady?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Finally," they said at the same time, grinning at each other. 

Still grinning, Vecchio turned his head and caught sight of Fraser coming towards them, an intent look on his face. "Mountie at three o'clock." The two men grinned at each other again.

"Oh, yeah, we gotta do it," Kowalski responded to the unspoken question, "it's our duty. I think it's a whole chapter in the cop's rulebook. Gotta needle 'im."

Fraser could see his two friends propped against the wall, watching him approach, arms folded across their chests, grins splitting their faces. Oh, dear. 

~*~*~

The room was full of the noise of people laughing and talking, punctuated by the clink and ping of silverware against plates and an occasional raucous dinging as one of the guests tapped a knife against a glass, demanding a kiss from Frannie and Ren. Not that the two minded. Most of the lasagna was gone, the vegetable trays and breadsticks were seriously depleted, and people were enjoying the cannelloni. Things were going well.

Wineglass in hand, Ray Kowalski pushed back his chair from the table where he was sitting next to all of his friends, including the happy couple. Tapping his knife against the glass to get everyone's attention, he said, "I'd like to propose a toast." Once the noise had leveled off into silence, he proceeded. "Over a year ago, when the Vecchios first took me in ta' their family, it didn't take me long to realize that I had gained a sister. I'd never had one of those before, so that was great. An' when she and Ren came back from Vegas all married, I reacted like an older brother and wasn't too sure of this whole thing." He looked down at the two of them in time to see Ren duck his face in embarrassment. "But then I saw how happy she was, an' how happy she was makin' him, an' I changed my mind. This was a good thing. And it is. I know you both had a hand in saving me and Fraser's life with that whole boat incident, and I'm grateful for that, and grateful to count you as my friends, and as my family. So, to Francesca and Ren; may the road always rise up to meet you, and may you always remember the joy you have today and use it to help guide you through the rest of your lives." Raising his glass in salute, he finished, "Salud!"

"Salud!" Everyone echoed and took a sip.

"That was a wonderful toast, Ray," Fraser told his friend as he sat back down.

"Thanks, Fraze. That means a lot comin' from you," Kowalski replied.

"Yes, very nicely done, Detective," Meg Thatcher supplied, looking vaguely surprised. She was sitting next to Fraser, and what no one else could see was that under the table their legs had somehow come into contact and were touching from knee to ankle. 'It's a wonder I can even form a complete sentence,' she thought.

Fraser spoke again, "Ma," he had long ago stopped trying to call her Mrs. Vecchio, "your lasagna was magnificent. Am I correct that you used extra oregano this" The rest of his words were swallowed in a small gasp.

Ray Vecchio looked at his friend curiously as Fraser's words tumbled to a stop and his eyes seemed to darken. "Benny, you ok?" 

"Yes, Ray, never better. Thank you for asking." Fraser replied. Everyone looked at him a bit oddly, but he stared back with his Innocent Mountie look and turned to listen attentively to Ma's answer to his question. No one could have known from his expression that Meg Thatcher had just twisted her leg around his. And he certainly wasn't going to tell them.

~*~*~

Several hours later, all the guests were gone, Frannie and Turnbull had departed to spend the night Lt. Welsh's cabin on the lake, and all the gifts and decorations had been loaded into cars to be taken back to the Vecchio house.

"Are you sure you won't need help unloading all of this, Ma?" Fraser said, standing on the Consulate steps, looking down at Ma, the two Rays and Lt. Welsh. Meg was a couple steps behind him.

"Nah, Benny, Ray, here, and I got it covered. You all have done enough."

"Yeah, don't worry about it, Fraze." Kowalski echoed.

"Very well." The Mountie replied. With a last flurry of good byes, he watched the four people get into their cars and drive away, waving as they went. 

Dropping his hand, he turned back to the Inspector, and motioned her in front of him back into the Consulate. All of the clean up had been done, everything had been put away and polished. Shutting off the lights was all that remained. That didn't seem fitting.

"Could I interest you in some coffee?" He said as they stepped through the door and he began to shut it.

She looked up at him, "Yes, you can, FrasBen. Coffee sounds wonderful," she said, locking the door he had just closed. "Let's go into the kitchen."

And so they did.

FIN!

To be continued in The Gift of Peace . . .

Copyright Deborah Hann, November 1999


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